


Don't Leave my Sight

by accidentallyonpurpose



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Couch Cuddles, Cute Ending, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Post The Great Game, Separation Anxiety, Sleepy Cuddles, Slightly - Freeform, slight PTSD, snuggle, snuggles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2014-11-15
Packaged: 2018-02-25 10:46:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2618948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/accidentallyonpurpose/pseuds/accidentallyonpurpose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock suffer from separation anxiety after the events of The Great Game. This results in cuddles and quality time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Leave my Sight

**Author's Note:**

> based off this prompt:   
> http://bbcsherlock.livejournal.com/635785.html :  
> Sherlock/John: separation anxiety after a traumatic event  
> Keeping the other person in one's line of sight, fidgeting if not in the same room, casual touches for reassurance, this kind of behaviors...
> 
> Leave comments and kudos at your leisure- they are greatly appreciated!

John’s left hand twitched involuntarily in his sleep and his eyes flickered restlessly behind his closed lids, soft whimpers escaping his tightly clenched teeth. He jerked awake with a shout that sounded suspiciously like “Sherlock!”   
John didn’t even remember falling asleep; all he could remember was the endless exhaustion that had plagued him for the past day and a half, following the Moriarty-pool debacle. Both he and Sherlock had been in a state of shock for the past day and a half, moving about in a directionless haze.  
John hadn’t been able to close his eyes the past day and a half for fear of reliving the experience or worse, watching Sherlock die. Which was exactly what he had just witnessed in his dreams, and what had jerked him so forcefully awake. Scrubbing a hand over his eyes, John admitted to himself that he wouldn’t be getting any more sleep that night. Tossing off the covers, John swung his legs out of bed and leaned heavily on the bedside table while leveraging himself out of bed. His limp had returned sporadically since the incident and even him knowing it was psychosomatic would not keep it away. It had gotten to the point where he almost had to go back to using his cane, although he determinedly refused to dig it out.   
John hobbled his way out of his room and aimed his body at the stairs that would lead him towards the kitchen and a warm cuppa. He halted at the top of the stairs when he noticed a tall lanky frame folded onto the top step, hands steepled under his chin.   
“Sherlock?”   
“Particularly bad nightmare tonight, yes?” Sherlock inquired without opening his eyes.  
“Uh, yeah. I was headed down to make a cuppa. Want one?”  
“Yes. But I will accompany you down there.”   
“Sounds good.” John preceded Sherlock down the stairs, taking longer to get down than he would like. He walked the rest of the way to the kitchen, noticing that his limp had lessened somewhat. Sherlock trailed him into the kitchen, perching on a chair and staring unfocusedly into the middle distance. John went about his tea-making routine, efficiently turning on the kettle before grabbing two mugs, two steepers and the tin of loose-leaf English Breakfast that both men preferred. He had both mugs set up by the time the kettle had boiled and quickly poured the scalding water over the steepers before handing Sherlock his mug and a small plate. Their fingers lingered a touch more than they normally did, but neither man commented.   
“Have you gotten any sleep?” John asked after fixing his tea with the right amount of cream and sugar, and sliding the implements over to Sherlock so that he could do the same.   
“Unnecessary and undesired. Would you mind making up my tea?” He had pulled the steeper out and put it on the small plate, but pushed his mug back towards John.   
“Sure.” He pulled the cream and sugar back over and doctored Sherlock’s tea, doing just the way he knew Sherlock liked it. He slid the tea back over to Sherlock. “Better?” He laid his hand beside Sherlock’s mug. Sherlock slid his hand so that it was also lying beside his mug, fingertips brushing John’s.   
“Much, thank you.”

They spent what remained of the night in companionable silence, each absorbed in their own thoughts. As the sun was beginning to crest over the buildings that surrounded their flat, John shook himself out of his thoughts.   
“I should grab a shower. Probably you should too. Actually, how about you go first.”  
“If you insist.”  
“I do. It’ll be good for you.” Sherlock started to make his way to the bathroom.  
“John?”  
John looked up from where he was clearing the table. “Yeah?”  
“Could you… Uh. Oh, never mind.” This was the first time John had witnessed Sherlock being hesitant in any way. It threw him more off track than he already was.  
“What is it Sherlock?”  
“I… It’s nothing. Forget it.”  
“Alright. Then up you get.” Sherlock headed once more for the bathroom, seeming to drag his feet. He closed the door behind him but didn’t lock it. He was already feeling nervous because he could no longer see John. Scenarios ran through his mind, too fast for him to count, of John being kidnapped, killed, tripping and falling, of being permanently removed from his life in various ways. It made Sherlock break out in a cold sweat. Before he could process what he was doing, Sherlock had the door open again.   
John silently breathed a sigh of relief when the bathroom door opened. He had been trying to tidy the kitchen, but kept getting distracted and casting looks at the bathroom door. He scoffed quietly at his own anxiety- surely Sherlock would be fine in their own home. His limp had returned full force and his hand had started trembling, making cleaning a difficult task.  
“I, um, am going to leave the door ajar. For ventilation purposes.“  
“Alright. I’m just going to keep cleaning the kitchen,” John said calmly. He didn’t want to belie his nerves to Sherlock.  
“Okay. Be back soon.” He retreated into the bathroom, leaving the door open. He undressed quickly and got into the shower. He rinsed himself off efficiently, getting his hair wet but not bothering to shampoo it. He exited the shower as quickly as possible and redressed.  
“All done,” he said, coming out of the bathroom.   
“My turn then.” John put down the dishtowel he had been wringing between his hands while Sherlock was out of his sight. He passed Sherlock on his way to the bathroom. “Look… I don’t-“ Here he paused, gathering his courage. “It’s just that since… the whole pool thing… I’ve noticed I’ve been getting nervous a lot. Mostly when you’re not around. And I think you’ve been affected by the incident as well. Obviously leaving the door open between rooms isn’t quite going to cut it. Do you- do you think maybe you could come sit on the toilet seat? Just so I don’t have to worry about you?” John stuttered his way through his confession, his intense insecurities warring one against the other. Sherlock looked at him for a minute.  
“Yes, I suppose I could see where that would benefit us both. You are correct, I have been feeling unusually disturbed when you are not present.” He gestured for John to lead the way. John, taking the admission in stride, led the way into the bathroom.   
“Okay, turn around while I get in, yeah?”  
“Fine.” Sherlock turned to face the door they had left open. John quickly undressed and got into the shower, pulling the curtain closed.  
“Alright, go on and sit on the toilet seat.” John saw the faint shadowy outline of Sherlock take a seat on the toilet. “So you haven’t slept in the past two days?”  
“Like I said John, unnecessary and undesired. I’ve watched you have nightmares- I don’t wish to replicate the experience.”  
“Yeah, but you need sleep to function. Fuelling your transport and all that.” John hastily scrubbed shampoo into his hair.   
“ Trust me, I have gone longer without sleep. I slept for four hours three days ago. I will need approximately four more hours by tomorrow evening. I’m fine, really.”  
“Yeah, no offense but I don’t think that’s the definition of ‘I’m fine.’”   
“Oh, I am horribly offended.” Sherlock let a small smile grace his lips. John poked his head around the shower curtain. He glared jokingly at Sherlock.  
“Alright, here’s the deal. I’m going to finish up here, and then we’re going to go out to our living room, sit on the sofa and watch crap telly all day. No cases, no responsibilities, just sitting and letting our brains go numb.” He stuck his head back in the shower and continued cleaning himself. “Even you, Mr. Big Brain.”  
Sherlock scoffed at the nickname.   
“Also, I’m making you eat toast. Or something. Not eating is not good for you either.”  
“Yes, alright John.” The shower turned off.   
“Okay, hand me my towel, yeah?” Sherlock grabbed the towel and handed it silently to John, who dried himself off brusquely behind the shower curtain. “And now my pants.” Pants on, John clambered out of the shower and put on his trousers and shirt. “Now to the kitchen. Off we go.” John shooed Sherlock into the kitchen.  
Huffing, Sherlock slouched his way to the kitchen and sat at the table.  
“What would you like on your toast?” John asked while he put four pieces of bread in the toaster.   
“Just butter, please.”  
“I’m not going to argue, just as long as you actually eat the toast.”  
“Yes, John.” The toast popped, and John scooped the slices out of toaster and plopped them onto two plates. Two pieces were buttered and two pieces were spread thick with jam.   
“Here’s your plate, and here’s mine. Off we go.” John found it soothing to have a goal, even if that goal was feeding his stubborn flat mate and getting him to sit on the sofa with him all day. This time John led the way to the living room, situating himself on the sofa and patting the sofa beside him. Sherlock stalked to the couch and plopped down unceremoniously beside John. John turned on the television and switched it to a reality T.V. channel, lowering the volume so that it was background noise. They finished their toast in silence, each munching through their pieces efficiently but unhurriedly. John replaced his plate on the coffee table and took up his mug of tea. Leaning back, he slung his arm over the back of the sofa, relaxing into the plush cushions at his back.  
The shows played out in front of them, one turning into another turning into another. John felt his mind wander, the mindless programs providing a suitable background noise that lulled him into a doze. He could feel Sherlock beside him fidgeting restlessly, his toes and fingers constantly shifting and pattering out random rhythms. John let his arm fall onto Sherlock’s shoulder and started absent-mindedly rubbing soothing circles into it. As he did so, he felt Sherlock start to relax, first the tension falling out of his shoulders and then his head slowly drooping forward as he fell asleep. Although Sherlock’s brain was a rapid-fire machine, even the great genius cerebrum needed its rest, and three days without sleep was pushing the limit, despite what Sherlock thought.   
As the tension melted out of Sherlock’s body, it did the same in John’s. John could feel his head bobbing and swaying. Carefully, he shifted so that he was lying on the sofa, Sherlock tucked securely in front of him. He quickly drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep. 

Sherlock drifted awake a few hours later, blinking confusedly at finding himself situated warmly on the sofa. He looked over his shoulder and saw John’s face close to his. He snuggled deeper into John’s warmth and fell back asleep.

John woke four hours after Sherlock, stretching and rubbing his eyes. Sherlock shifted in his arms, taking a deep breath in and stretching all the way to his toes.   
“What time is it?” Sherlock asked drowsily. John grunted and put his arm back around Sherlock.  
“Who cares? It doesn’t really matter right now. We’re not in any rush.” Sherlock relaxed once more.  
“John?”  
“Yes, Sherlock?”  
“What is this?” he asked, linking their hands and tightening his arm around John to indicate what he meant.  
“I suppose it’s whatever we want it to be, yeah?”  
“Yeah,” Sherlock said, bringing their joined hands to his lips and laying a soft kiss on John’s. “This okay?”  
“Yeah.” And with a soft press of John’s lips into Sherlock’s dark curls, both men settled back to sleep.


End file.
